Long Live All the Magic We Made
by PrincessFiona073
Summary: A series of one-shots that take place in the 'you are my sweetest downfall universe'. Featuring moments that were cut out in the final product and moments that take place after the story has finished.
1. Chapter 1: Let There Be Light

**A/N Hello readers! 'Long live all the magic we made' is a series of one-shots that takes place within the 'you are my sweetest downfall' universe. It will feature stories before Anne's second reign as Queen (during the time range of when Anne lived at Pembroke) and after she has regained her throne. There will be some one-shots written from Anne's POV and some from the other characters like Henry, Charles, Elizabeth etc. Feel free to send me any prompts or ideas that you guys would like to see in the review section or PM if you want. Thanks for all of your support on you are my sweetest downfall, I am glad all of you enjoyed it.**

 **Oh and just a warning, there will be Spoilers here so if you have not yet read—or finished reading— you are my sweetest downfall, I suggest you don't read these yet bc they will uh spoil the story. Lol just a warning.**

 **Thanks again! Please review!**

 **Until next time,**

 **Fiona Kevin073**

 _Prompt Summary: The one-year anniversary of Charles death._

 **June 1540**

Anne had not allowed herself to think of this day. Whenever she thought of it it made her physically ill. She had had nightmares for weeks, unable to get the image of Charles headless body out of her mind. Anne had not allowed herself to cry over him; to grieve for him, at least not openly. Some would interpret that as weakness and while Anne's enemies had lessened, there were still some there waiting to plot her downfall once more. Anne had been wary—in the first few months after her second coronation— that Henry would be angry with her if she mentioned Charles or seemed saddened by his death.

And so she had set aside her grief, her pain and her hurt for a year. A whole entire year she had not let herself cry or weep or shudder at the mention of Charles. For a total of 365 days she had quelled down her sorrow and bit her tongue.

Now, that Anne had woken on the first anniversary of his death she regretted it because it now slammed into her like waves on a cliff. She lay there on her side staring blankly ahead, feeling numb. She was neither hungry nor thirsty. She had no desire to do anything except to lay there and be left alone. Her hair stuck to the nape of her neck, messy and unkept due to her restless sleep the night before. Even her ladies could sense her distress and she could feel them tiptoe around her bed, as though she were made of glass.

"Your majesty," Nan murmured softly, from somewhere behind her, "We have brought you some food and water. Are you unwell?"

Anne did not say anything. She did not move. She was suddenly annoyed by the sunlight seeping through her windows; annoyed at her ladies and herself and everyone and everything.

"I wish to be left alone," she said faintly, "Tell his majesty that I am unwell."

There was a moment of uneasy silence before Anne whispered, "And cover the light with the curtains."

"Your majesty—"

"All of you leave," Anne cut off, "Now."

Anne buried her head underneath the covers when they left, finally allowing tears to trickle down her face. _Oh Charles I am so sorry. I am so so sorry._ Anne closed her eyes and let herself grieve.

—

"Anne."

Anne's lids fluttered open with great reluctance and she immediately noticed how her face was sticky and wet due to her tears. She had not changed positions from when she had first fallen asleep, except now her room was dark, her handmaidens having obeyed her orders to shut out the light.

"Anne."

 _Henry._

Anne closed her eyes tightly, feeling herself grow ill. She did not want to see him, not now. She did not want to find out whether or not he was angry with her for retiring from court for the day—especially this day. But Anne knew that she could not ignore him forever and so she forced herself to turn on her back and prop herself up against the pillows, her throat raw and her eyes blurry. She swiped at her eyes with her hands, trying to clear them of their redness.

"Majesty," she murmured, keeping her eyes downcast.

She could not bare to look at him.

"Anne," he said quietly—a hint of awkwardness in his voice, "Your ladies told me that you were unwell and I was concerned."

It took every inch of her strength to force a half smile onto her face.

"That is very gracious of you your majesty," she repeated weakly, "I am most unwell."

Anne heard him let out a breath and tensed when she heard him approach the bed.

"I am sorry."

Anne lifted her eyes to meet his. They were so blue—so incredibly and wonderfully blue— but they were not the right shade. They were not the eyes she wanted so desperately in that moment.

"I did not know. . " his voice drifted off, "I did not know that you loved him so." There was a small hint of jealousy in his tone but for the most part he sounded apologetic, regretful even. Anne smiled ruefully but chose not to say anything and instead waited for him to finish.

"I cancelled all of our meetings and events today, it did not seem right to continue without you," he added, "And I can see that you want to be left alone, so I will leave you, my precious Queen." He leaned over and gently kisses her forehead, causing Anne to blink with surprise. He moved away from her and looked as though he wanted to say something but chose not to and instead began to leave the room.

"Henry," Anne called out, causing him to halt in his footsteps.

Her eyes were wet as she asked unsurely, "Can you—can you stay with me? Can you. . . can you hold me?"

It was the first time she had been the one to ask him to be physically close with her since her coronation almost a year prior. Henry blinked at her with surprise and then finally—surprisingly—he nodded, taking off his shoes before climbing into bed with her. Anne moved so that there was room for him and turned onto her side, with her back to him. He wrapped a strong arm around her waist gently, waiting to see how she would react and when she did not tense or wince at his touch his arm grew more relaxed.

Tears—sudden and blinding tears fell down her face with a sudden quickness, causing a small choked sob to escape her lips.

Henry stayed there through the night and held her, kissing the back of her neck and whispering words of comfort until they both fell asleep. Then the next morning when Anne woke, he was no longer beside her but standing by the window, which was no longer covered by the curtains. She was blinded momentarily by the sun and must have gasped because Henry turned to look at her, a soft smile on his handsome face.

"Let there be light," he told her, "Let there be light."

(And every year without fail, until the day he died, Henry stayed with her on that day and let her grieve.

 _Let there be light,_ he always said the next day, even if the sun was not shining. And years later, when Henry himself died and Anne was watching his casket be lowered into the ground at his funeral, she whispered:

"Let there be light." )

—

End.


	2. Chapter 2: Try

**A/N this was requested by Let there b light (Guest) on fan fiction archive, where Anne attempts to reconcile with Mary. Hope you all enjoy. Thank you all so much for your support! Please feel free to request more moments, scenarios etc. Thanks again for everything. Please review.**

 **Until next time,**

 **Fionakevin073**

In the chaos that was Anne's life for the first two months since her re-coronation, she had been focused on two things: first, her children, as per usual, and then the second was avoiding Henry as much as she could without it being too noticeable to the court or to him.

The Lady Mary had slipped into the back of her mind, being the least of her troubles during those months but now that Anne had begun to adjust to the dramatic changes in her life, she began to notice the girl more often. She was always dressed in dark colours that made the paleness of her skin all the more apparent and did nothing to shape her figure. Anne remembered how Lady Mary had been dressed beautifully when she was last at court, when Lady Seymour was Queen, and thought that it was a clear defiance of Anne's re-coronation.

Unlike when Anne had first been Queen, she no longer feared the Lady Mary. As a matter of fact, Anne shuddered with shame at the horrible thoughts that she had had towards the Lady and her mother and wished desperately to atone.

Lady Mary had every reason to hate her Anne knew that. If she had been in her position, Anne was not sure that she would have been able to forgive her either but all she knew was that she had to try. the Lady Mary may never love her but she _did_ love her father and had been kind to Elizabeth, so perhaps it would be slightly more easier to establish peace between the two.

But how to do it?

Anne thought and pondered about how to begin building her relationship with Lady Mary when one day it hit her. Anne's sons had met the Lady Mary only briefly, during their and Elizabeth's royal procession where they were all made Dukes and a Duchess respectively but it had only been a brief meeting. Perhaps it was through them that Anne could speak with her.

And so one day, she sent Nan to invite the Lady Mary to where she and the children were playing in the gardens, the weather still relatively warm even though it was near September. Anne is sitting on the ground with the boys tickling George and Mark as their siblings laugh and giggle at their plight.

Anne snapped her head to the side when Nan approached, watching as she sank into a deep curtsy. "The Lady Mary, your majesty."

Anne stopped her tickling at once and rose to her feet, causing her children to stare at her confusedly. "Lady Mary," Anne greeted warmly, a small smile on her face as she watched the girl curtsy.

"Majesty," Mary echoed, her voice sullen.

Anne nearly felt herself falter.

"Elizabeth," Anne called out, her smile brightening when she felt her daughter appear at her side. "Boys." She heard them climb up to their feet and placed her hands on Francis and William's shoulder when they came to stand in front of her, smiling curiously at the Lady Mary.

"Boys this is your sister, the Lady Mary," she introduced, watching as Mary bowed at the Prince's before curtsying at Elizabeth. Anne had mentioned Mary to the boys once or twice, so they knew that they had one and was pleased when they did not make any rude or inappropriate comments like asking Mary who her mother was or why she was not a Princess also or why she was their sister but not their mothers child.

"Mary!" Elizabeth chirped happily, moving forward to wrap her arms around her elder sister, causing the girl to blink rapidly with surprise. Though she was slow in her response, Mary returned the gesture, a hesitant smile on her features. The boys waited until Elizabeth returned to her side before greeting Mary.

"Hello," George asked eagerly, "Would you like to play with us Lady Mary?"

"Please," the rest of his siblings sang in unison, causing their half-sibling to let out a started laugh. "Of course, your grace's." Anne gradually began to drift closer to her ladies, watching the siblings play with a lightness in her chest.

It turned out being at peace was far more relaxing then being at war. Anne sat with her ladies nearby, smiling and waving at her children when they turned to look see if she was watching. Then eventually when the boys went to take their nap and Elizabeth returned to her lessons, Anne was finally alone with a slightly more relaxed looking Mary.

Anne dismissed her ladies with a glance and began to walk around the gardens with Mary by her side. There was silence for a few moments before she spoke.

"I know that you may never. . . _like_ me, Lady Mary. I know that that is something beyond your power to give and truth be told, I am not sure that I would like myself very much if I were in your position either. But I am asking— pleading with you, for us to try and gain a semblance of peace. An understanding, if you will. I will never be your mother, I know that. But I also know that you love your siblings and if you can not do it because I ask, I plead with you to try and do it for them."

Something flickers across her face. Something desperate and sad and hopeful and guilty and resigned all at once.

"I can _try,_ " she whispers eventually, after Anne feels as though her heart was about to burst, "For their sakes I will try."

Anne smiles.


	3. Chapter 3: and I promise, I'll do better

**A/N Hey readers. Wow I've been responding to these prompts pretty quickly haven't I? Lol. Anyway, that might change for a little while because I'm going on vacation and I still have another couple exams to write :( but oh well, I'll try fulfil the prompts now. Feel free to ask for more. :) This one shot was asked by Guest, who asked for others as well (which I will work on in due time) but this one shot is about Henry VIII's death in 1547.**

 _and I promise, I'll do better— Sleeping at Last, Light._

Anne's children were meant to return to their estates after the Christmas tide festivities when their father grew ill.

It had not been visible that Henry was ill and so they all dined together, laughing merrily. Anne conversed with Elizabeth, beaming with pride as she listened to her daughter talk passionately about her lessons, having just mastered French, Greek and Welsh as well as her mother tongue. They all laughed loudly when George quipped, "Soon enough you'll be able to become _our_ tutor Eliza."

He and his brothers had grown well and healthily and were now approaching their eleventh birthday that November. The realm had fallen in love with her children and even the courtiers were in awe of them, regardless of their personal feelings towards Anne or Henry.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the jest, though a smile was playing on her lips. Anne looked forward to meet Henry's gaze at the other end of the table and smiled at him, her chest warm with emotion. "Do not make fun of your sister," Henry reprimanded lightly, causing their sons to nod though small giggles still escaped their lips every now and then as conversation moved on.

The boys still resided at Eltham, unwilling to be parted with one another, but Elizabeth had decided to reside at Hever Castle, Anne's home. Elizabeth had been made Duchess of Wiltshire shortly after being declared a Princess once more and since Anne's father had written in his will that he wished her children to succeed him, Henry improvised, having already made George, Mark, Francis and William, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of York, Duke of Somerset and Duke of Pembroke respectively.

Anne's happiness faltered when Henry began to cough.

"Henry?" she questioned concernedly, "What is it?"

Henry raised his hand, as if trying to comfort her but continued to cough repeatedly, his face turning red. "Henry." Her voice had risen with alarm as her children's eyes grew wide. "Papa! Father!" Henry's face had grown white, a sheet of sweat appearing on the top of his forehead.

"Guards!" Anne yelled, "Send for the physician!"

—

Anne was the only person in the room after Henry had said his goodbyes to their children and given his last orders to his council. Her eyes were wet with tears as she looked at his weak, pale body, so unlike the man she had known in her younger years. But his eyes— oh how his eyes were still blue. A wonderful, breathtaking shade of blue.

"Anne my love," his voice rasped as he stared at her pleadingly, "Come here."

 _This isn't happening,_ she thought, wild with despair, _not now. It's too soon. Far too soon._

But she went to him regardless, curling up against his frail body when he gestured for her to do so. Her head was resting on his chest as she listened to his heart beat in his ribcage and sent a silent prayer for it never to end.

"You'll be alright," Anne whispered fervently, kissing his chest, "Everything will be alright—"

"Anne." His voice was gentle, soothing, "Look at me."

Tears streamed down her face as she lifted her head to stare into his eyes, struggling to contain her sobs. "Don't cry my love," he pleaded, tears piercing his own eyes, "I could not bare dying knowing that you were in pain and it was caused by me." Anne attempted to smile at him and managed to do so weakly. "I have already caused you enough of that." Then he lifted his hand to touch her greying locks, his touch gentle.

"You are still as beautiful as the first time I saw you."

Anne let out a broken chuckle and leaned forward to press her lips to his delicately, before returning to her previous position with her head on his chest.

"You are the love of my life," Henry told her, his voice only slightly above a whisper, "And I can not thank you enough for all that you have given me. I have caused you so much pain—"

"Shh," Anne said comfortingly, "All has been forgiven Henry."

"I am sorry," he told her, tears streaming down his face, wetting her hair, "I have loved—truly loved— only you." Anne's lips trembled but she forced the words to leave her mouth, clinging to the sound of his heartbeat. "You are the love of my life," she told him finally, knowing that it was true, regardless of her love for Charles.

"Thank you, lovely Anne. I have been a better man, a better King because of you. I promise that I'll do better in the next life."

"You gave me wonderful, beautiful children," Anne whispered, ignoring his words, "and have given me so much joy over these past few years, Henry. You have given me light."

Silence.

"Henry," Anne whispered, her heart leaping to her throat. His chest no longer rose under her cheek.

"Henry," she said again, this time with more urgency, "Wake up!"

But Henry could no longer hear her.

Anne sobbed loudly into his chest, her cries echoing through the door and signalled the death of England's King.

Henry's reign had ended but another had just begun.

—

 _End._


	4. Chapter 4: This is my kingdom come

**A/N Hello my lovely readers! These requests are coming in pretty fast huh? Lol I'm really enjoying writing them so far. For this one-shot, I am combining the requests of Queen Anne Tudor and Let there b ligh. This one shot is dedicated to examining the growing relationship between Anne and Mary. In all honesty, I had trouble believing that Anne would actively wish for Mary to be restored to the succession, partly because of religious beliefs and partly because I thought she fear that her children would be murdered so that Mary could be put on the throne. But nonetheless, I managed to come up with an idea that may satisfy both requests. I also have to finish writing the remaining requests from the Guest, who I have four more one-shots to write for. Please feel free to ask for more prompts. :)**

 **Thank you all for your continued support.**

 **Until next time,**

 **Fionakevin073**

 _This is my Kingdom come—Imagine Dragons, Demons_

* * *

Anne had always feared that her children would die young. As a mother, it was only natural, especially considering how often children died. Ever since William had grown ill in 1537, her children, including Elizabeth, had been healthy. Of course there had been the odd cough or cold here and there over the years but nothing that had Anne seriously concerned as to whether or not their lives were at stake.

That was until the year of 1550.

Henry had been dead for three years when the sweating sickness broke out once more. Anne had continued to reside at court despite the death of her husband, as co-regent until George came of age. There had been rumours of the sickness growing but Anne had not been overtly concerned. All of her children, including Elizabeth, who was visiting her brothers at Eltham before she left for France in a few months time, were safe in the countryside.

When eventually it became clear that the sweating sickness had indeed broken out once more, the court was disbanded and though Anne wished to go and be with her children, the doctors convinced her that she might be infected herself without even realising it and then bring the sickness upon her own children. Even though Anne had already suffered and overcome the sickness years prior and was well acquainted with its symptoms.

And so with great reluctance, Anne retired to her Pembroke estate, comforted with the knowledge that all her children were relatively safe and secluded. Anne did not enjoy visiting Pembroke on her own. Whenever she had visited the castle—which had been her home during some of the hardest moments of her life, and been her home during some of the happier moments— it had always been with Henry or her children by her side.

Anne did not like visiting there that much in part because it reminded her of Charles. Without her children there to distract her or Henry for that matter, she was constantly bombarded with memories of him. Though she admittedly still loved and cared for him, she was not willing to balance the guilt of mourning Charles and Henry, when the latter's death was a far greater and more recent wound.

But she resided there with her ladies for a good while, when she received an urgent letter.

 _Dear Dowager Queen Anne,_ the Lady Mary wrote,

 _I write to you in hope that you and your household remain in good health in these troubling times. My husband and child have luckily managed to escape the clutches of the illness by remaining near the seaside, since they have recently returned from my lord husbands short travel to France. Unfortunately your majesty, it has come to my attention that some members of my household have grown ill with the sweat and I implore you to allow me and very few members of my household to reside with you until the illness passes, as your estate is a mere half a day ride from my own._

 _With all my love and good will,_

 _Lady Mary, Duchess of Bavaria_

"Of course she can," Anne said aloud. Her and Mary's relationship had grown into one of mutual admiration and respect, though Anne could not confess that they were the closest of friends, they were certainly not enemies either and ever since Henry's death they corresponded regularly. Anne had played a massive role in convincing Henry to allow Mary to marry Philip of Bavaria and had offered her husband's daughter advice when she became with child, eventually giving birth to her son Henry.

All Anne had to do was wait.

* * *

Many people would call what happened next a bad omen.

On the day that Lady Mary arrived at Pembroke, Anne received word that not one, but _all_ of her children had caught the sweat.

The despair that Anne felt at the news was indescribable. Anne had two urges: one was to sob her eyes out of their sockets and the other was to curl up into a ball and disappear from the world. Anne's ladies as well as the lady Mary had to physically restrain her from riding to Hatfield, claiming that it would not do either her or her children any good.

"My children are dying," she whispered, her voice heavy with sorrow as she stared into the raging fire, the flames casting a sharp light on her grief stricken features.

"Your children are strong," Mary told her from where she sat beside her, "You overcame the illness, as shall they."

"They are so young," Anne continued, as though she had not heard Mary, "They are my heart. I will not survive if they go."

"Stop this," Mary told her firmly, causing Anne to look at her with surprise, "You are co-regent and the mother of the heirs to the throne. Your children are strong and healthy. My siblings will not die. God will not allow it and neither shall we."

"Yes," Anne murmured, feeling slightly better, "Indeed."

But Anne's mind had turned dark. Soon enough, she received letters from all the members of the privy council and her co-regent, the Duke of Norfolk, asking her who would be heir to the throne if all her children died. Anne could not bare to think of such things but she knew that since George was far too young to think of who would rule after him in case all of he and his siblings were dead, it was up to her.

The answer came far easier than one might have thought.

"Mary," Anne said aloud into her empty chamber, moonlight fluttering through the windows, "Mary."

* * *

Thankfully, all of her children recovered before Anne had replied to the privy council's letters and though the thought lingered in her mind, Anne did not speak of it or say it aloud to anyone, not even Mary herself.

At least, not until George was old enough.

* * *

(Anne is the one who suggests the idea to George once he rules England and she is there when Mary is informed of the new act of Succession, with Mary 6th in line to the throne, after the children he and his siblings had.

Anne watches as various expressions flicker across her pale face; surprise, gratitude, happiness and a deep sadness all at once.

"Thank you," Mary tells them finally, "Thank you."

When Mary gives birth to her final child, a girl, in 1554, she calls her Anne.)

—

End.


	5. Chapter 5: the moment I knew

**A/N hey guys, this will be the final one-shot that request that I will respond to for a few days because I still have some exams and should be studying right now. Thank you all for your continued and amazing support, it's been so great hearing what you think. Feel free to ask for more one-shots but I won't post anything for a couple of days. :( Sorry about that. Anyway, this prompt was asked for by Guest— and I'm not sure whether or not this is the same one who asked for one-shots in both Henry and Charles POV— but I'm fulfilling both requests. This features Anne and Charles fluff in one half and then in the other it features fluff from Henry VIII's POV.**

 **Thank you all!**

 **Until next time,**

 **Fionakevin073**

 _That was the moment I knew— Taylor Swift, Moment I knew_

 **Charles POV**

 _August 30th 1537, two weeks after Henry allows Charles to return to Pembroke_

It had been the first day the sun was out in about a week. Elizabeth and Henry were at their lessons and the boys were still slumbering in the nursery and Charles, having finished writing some important letters and managing some matters for his estates, set out to find Anne. It pleased him greatly to be back at Pembroke, more than he had ever thought possible. Those months at court had past by dreadfully slow and when Henry had informed him—grudgingly, with a surprising hint of jealousy in his eyes— that he permitted him to return to Pembroke, it had taken every inch of power he possessed to not smile.

Anne's ladies were in the outer rooms of her apartment, giggling amongst themselves. They had grown used to the friendship between the two of them and no longer used formalities to introduce their presence into a room when they were at Pembroke. So Charles made his way into Anne's room, his eyes searching for her familiar figure.

It was quiet in the room, the mid-afternoon light cascading into the room through the shutters, giving everything a quiet glow. Charles moved around the room quietly, looking for Anne and his heart leapt to his throat when he caught sight of her. She was sitting on some pillows by one of the windows, where her ladies had arranged blankets on the ledge so that she could sit there and read comfortably. Her dark locks were let loose so they tumbled down to her stomach, though two pieces were pinned back so that they did not get in her eyes. She was wearing a gold tight fitting gown that gave her skin this breath taking glow and made her cheeks look beautifully flushed.

She had never been so beautiful to him in that moment. She frowned adorably at the book in her hands, biting down on her lower lip. Charles merely stood there, gobsmacked, unwilling to disturb her. Something warm was spreading in his chest—something warm and unfamiliar that made him feel as though his heart was _glowing._ In that moment, he understood _why_ Henry had moved heaven and Earth to marry her. He understood why so many men gave up their kingdom for the love of a woman.

Her eyes flickered to the side, now taking notice of his presence. Her face broke out into a smile and Charles lifted a hand to stop her when she wanted to come and greet him.

 _I love you,_ Charles realised, _I love you._

In that moment, he wanted to tell her. Truly, he did. But he knew that she still loved Henry, remembering her words from a few weeks ago where she told him tearfully, _I wish I could stop. I don't know how to stop._

And so he bit his tongue though a smile still played on his lips. He moved forward so that he was now standing in front of her and bent down to kiss her, much to Anne's surprise.

"You're in a good mood," she commented, laughter in her voice.

"You have no idea," he told her, cradling her face in his hands and bent forward to press his lips to hers once more.

And that was the moment he knew.

* * *

 **Henry's POV**

 _After Anne's second coronation_

When Henry had first fallen in love with Anne, he would have gladly given up his kingdom if it meant that he could be with her. He had loved her with an intensity that consumed him for years but after they were married her found himself growing slowly more disillusioned with her, to the point where he believed that he no longer loved. He had thought himself to be in love with Jane but Henry admitted to himself that the peak of his feelings for Jane did not even approach the depth and passion of his love for Anne.

When the truth about Anne's supposed infidelity came to light, Henry was surprised by how relieved he was that it was untrue. He had been immeasurably hurt and angered by the accusations, angry and jealous that he had spent seven years waiting for her when all she had been doing was playing with his feelings, manipulating him so that she could become Queen and bring favour upon her numerous lovers.

Anne was _his,_ his to love and his to hold. The thought of another man being with her in the most carnal sense made him want to drive his fist through a wall. Even now, after Anne's re-coronation, the thought still made him mad with jealousy. The amusing and somewhat ironic part was was that Anne could now take a lover if she so wished, now being more secure in her position and loved by the people than any other Queen had been before. If anyone dared make a move against her now, the people would do more than uprise against him. More importantly, Henry would never hurt her ever again.

He loved Anne, yes, but Henry was not so sure as to whether or not he was _in love_ with her anymore. Regardless, he knew that he desperately desired her forgiveness and friendship. He knew that he waned them to fall in love with each other again. Even if it took years of him being celibate, he would wait until she could stand his touch once more.

Henry began to fall in love with Anne all over again without even realising it. When he did find out, it was in the most simplest of ways.

He had been looking for his children, eager to spend some time with them even though it was early in the morning. When he had gone to their rooms however—the one's that Anne had insisted on being installed in the palace, so that her children could be close to her— he discovered that they gone to their mother's chambers during the night, still uneasy living in their new home.

And so he entered Anne's bed chamber quietly, looking for his children. To his surprise however, he found them all asleep in the same bed. Elizabeth was on the far side of the bed, sleeping soundly next to Anne, her face buried in her mothers neck. The boys were on the other side of Anne, who had her arm wrapped sleepily around William and George, with Francis and Mark snuggling close to their brothers, as though they were trying to get as close their mother as they could.

Henry could not describe the emotions boiling in his chest. There was love and adoration of course but yet there was a hint of guilt. He had not been much of a father to them when they had first been born, and had nearly sentenced their mother to death. He shook his head, eager to rid himself of these dark thoughts. This was a good day; this was a beautiful moment that he did not wish to ruin.

Something began to unfurl in his chest as he stared at Anne's delicate features, taking note of the colour of her skin and the curve of her mouth. He could not quite describe it. It was fondness and affection yes, but it was something else too. Something far deeper. Anne began to stir under his gaze and blinked at him with surprise.

"Your maje—"

"Shh," he whispered quietly, carefully sitting at the edge of the bed, cautious not to sit on Elizabeth's legs, "We don't want to wake them."

She smiled at him faintly, though there was a small hint of wariness in her eyes as she watched him, as though waiting for him to pounce. For a moment he was at a loss for words, this unfamiliar emotion making him tongue-tied. Finally, he settled for reaching for her hand—the one that was closest to him— and kissed it gently.

"Thank you," he told her, loud enough so only she could hear, "Thank you."

What he really meant was: _I love you._

(And that was the moment he knew)

* * *

 _End._


	6. Chapter 6: Show Me Kindness, Teach Me

**A/N Hello readers. At freaking last, my exams are OVER! Gosh I'm so happy. Anyway lol, I can receive requests again. Thank you all for your support. This prompt was asked for by Monica OP, where Anne teaches her children all about charity and about what the royal family can do. I have a small one-shot about Henry Brandon in the works in my mind but I have not really fleshed out the details. Thanks! Please review.**

 **Until next time,**

 **Fionakevin073**

 _The one that showed me kindness was the one that taught me kindness—Todd Rundgren_

Anne has been Queen—once again— for a short while when she decides to take the children out with her to give money to the poor. She had been planning on taking Elizabeth anyway, since her beloved daughter was eager to help charitable causes and join her when she announced her plans, but it is a last minute decision to bring the boys with her as well.

They are still slightly unused to their new status as Princes of the realm but they have adapted to the sudden change in events with a quickness that makes Anne's heart swell with pride and adoration. Her boys are gentle and energetic she knows this—and she also knows that they would fulfil their charitable duties when they came of age— but she wants to ensure that they get into the habit early and do it not only for pretences but because they want _to help._

And so the night before—Anne mentions her plans to Henry briefly, who knew better than to try and stop her, even though he informed her that a doctor and an additional group of guards (more than usual) would accompany them — Anne has her children brought to her before supper begins and sits with them on the ground, her voice gentle as she explains:

"Boys," she says, instantly grabbing their attention. Elizabeth was already listening to her intently, ever the observant one. "Do you know what we are going to do tomorrow?"

They all nod at her enthusiastically.

"We are going to hand out money to the poor," Mark chirps.

Anne smiles at them, slightly amused and pleased at the same time.

"Do you all know _why_ we are going to do so?"

It takes a great deal of effort for her to not giggle at the adorable perplexed expressions on their features. Elizabeth catches her eye, looking slightly amused at her brothers even though she was only six years of age. _My extraordinary girl,_ Anne thinks momentarily, before refocusing on the task at hand.

"Why do you think we do this?" Anne questions them carefully, watching the boys share looks amongst themselves, unsure of what to say.

"Because we're supposed to!" George guesses.

Anne lets out a small huff of amusement and tilts her head in acknowledgement.

"That is _one_ way to look at it," she agrees, staring into their wide, curious eyes.

"What's the other way to look at it?" Francis and William ask simultaneously, unable to help themselves.

Anne smiles, unable to help it before her features darken slightly, her mood turning serious (yet kind) now.

"I want you to imagine not living in a palace or at Pembroke," she tells them, "I want you to think about not having servants or tutors like Lady Brian and I want you to think about not having food at some points—"

"Even sweets?" George asks horrifyingly.

"Especially sweets," Anne whispers back, "Imagine not even having your Mama or Papa or Elizabeth." All of their faces are twisted with horror, unable to picture it. "Wouldn't you want someone with all these things to help you if they could? To be kind to you? There are many who say that kindness is a weakness my darlings, but I am here to tell you that kindness is strength, regardless of what people say. That is why we help those who need it because if we were in their position we would want someone to help us live better lives and give their children opportunities that they could not."

The boys are silent now, looking contemplative.

"Alright?" She asks, not unkindly. "Promise me that you will believe so even as you grow older."

They nod solemnly and utter simultaneously, "We promise Mama." Which causes Anne to bend forward and press a kiss to the crown of each other their heads, before kissing Elizabeth on the cheek.

* * *

The next day, Anne watches her sons out of the corner of her eye closely, handing coins into the palms of the outstretched hands. "Thank you your majesty," They tell her eagerly, clutching the coins in their hands. Anne can smell the faint smell of bread that she had ordered to be handed out and smiles genuinely at the sound of them cheering.

Elizabeth is in front of her, smiling graciously at everyone, talking to a mother who has a babe on her hip.

"What's your name?" She asks the child lightly.

"Emma your highness," the little girl replies shyly.

"That's a beautiful name," Elizabeth tells her, pressing a coin into her mothers hand.

Anne turns her head back to stare at her sons, who are still at the top of the steps but what grabs her curiosity is that they look like they are waiting for something. Her young little boys who are almost three years of age have something planned.

They hold small baskets in each of their small arms, with servants behind them holding similar baskets on each of their arm as well.

 _What. . ._

Anne nearly giggles with delight when she realises what it is.

 _Roses,_ she realises, _they are handing out roses. White and red roses._

"God bless your souls!"

"The Princes of England!"

"Long Live You All All!"

"Thank you Princess Elizabeth!"

"The Tudor Roses!"

The boys beam at the crowd happily with Elizabeth when they reach Anne's side. "We hope you aren't angry," George tells her, "We thought it would be a good idea."

Anne's heart squeezes in her chest.

"Oh I'm not angry my darlings," she gushes, bending down to give them all kisses.

(The nickname, 'The Rose Princes' stick as long as the boys live. Even when George became King, he and his brothers—besides for Mark, who was unable to join them when he was sent to become the King Consort of Scotland — always handed out roses as well as money and bread whenever they donated to charity.

And always, whenever someone asked any one of them, including Elizabeth, who inspired their dedication to charity, they always answered:

"My mother." )

—

End.


	7. I don't believe you like I did before

**A/N Hey guys, This one shot request is meant to fulfil the requests for more about Henry Brandon and the one where Henry apologises to Anne. For the guest that requested a one shot about Henry catching Anne/Charles in an intimate embrace, I'm working on finding a somewhat realistic scenario where that might happen—partially because I believe that after what happened the previous time when Henry suspected that they were romantically involved they wouldn't risk doing anything when he was nearby. Anyway, lol thanks everyone for all of your support, it means so much to me.**

 **Until next time,**

 **Fionakevin073**

 _I don't believe you like I did before— Taylor Swift, You're not sorry_

Henry did not like having Henry Brandon at court.

Anne was—however much she disliked it— aware of this fact. Much to her husbands chagrin however, her children loved their cousin incredible much and during that first year that they were at court/Eltham palace (Anne had demanded that the palace be renovated so that her children could be placed there instead of Hatfield, since it was only an hour ride away from London) they asked for his presence frequently.

It was on the 10th of May, exactly seven days from _that_ day when her children asked for Henry Brandon.

But that wasn't the only person they asked for.

Anne and Henry are having lunch with the children in the gardens, having chosen to take a small break from court activities and their Kingly/Queenly duties in order to have lunch with their children. Henry is talking to Elizabeth when William turns to her and asks:

"Mama can Uncle Charles come with Henry Brandon when he comes to visit?"

Anne's heart drops to the pit of her stomach. She hears Henry drop his utensils on top of his plate, either angered or surprised by his youngest son's request. She can feel Elizabeth stare worriedly into the side of her face, since Anne had told her that Charles had been executed.

All she had said to the boys was that he had gone away and that they should never ask or speak of him in public or to anyone who was not her or Elizabeth.

Not even Henry Brandon himself.

"No darling," she told William kindly, struggling to keep a smile on her face, "Remember Uncle Charles has gone away for good."

All of her sons are looking at her now, curiosity painted on their faces.

"Why?" George asks plainly, unable to help himself.

"George!" Elizabeth and Mark scold immediately.

Henry is dangerously silent.

"Uncle Charles did. . ." Anne takes a deep breath, the image of Charles on the scaffold blurring her vision. "Uncle Charles did a bad, mean, thing to Mama," she tells them quietly, careful to keep her voice clear and even in order to hide her inner turmoil, "This was long before you all were born. But, when people—including myself— found out about it, in order to make it up to Mama, he had to go away. He had to go someplace that he couldn't come back from."

Elizabeth changes the topic after that hastily but Anne feels as though the damage has already been done.

When the children are eventually taken back to their rooms, Anne can feel Henry's gaze bore into the side of her face. She sits there with her heart in her throat, unable to meet his gaze.

(It's been a lot harder to keep up the pretence of happy marriage now. Anne's tolerance for Henry's touch had built due to her effort over the past few months but as _that day_ approached, Anne finds herself unable to look at him.

All she can see is George, Mark, Francis, Charles, Norris even William on that scaffold.)

Anne leaves before he can say anything.

—

Henry Brandon arrives at court three days after that incident and Anne's heart aches in her chest due to the intense similarity he bore to his father. He smiles as he approaches her though it tightens when he looks at the King beside her.

"Your majesties," he murmurs, bowing appropriately.

"Your grace," Anne says pleasantly, "Welcome back to court."

Anne takes it upon herself to escort him to his chambers when she gets the chance, eager to catch up with him.

"Are your studies progressing well?" She questions, walking beside him, "The music master I sent to your estates was said to be one of the best in England."

"Master Gordon has been very kind and I have enjoyed my lessons with him very much, your majesty," Henry responds, his cheeks warm.

There had once been a time where he called her Lady Anne but they were not allowed to be so informal any longer, much to Anne's dismay.

"I arranged for you to lodge in these beautiful chambers—not the one you were in last time, unfortunately someone burned the curtains in that room but these rooms are near your cousins as well— which I am sure you all will enjoy, your grace."

Henry smiles wildly at this, looking every inch his father.

(It takes Anne's breath away)

"Thank you," he tells her quietly, his eyes full of sincerity—he isn't only thanking her for this, "Thank you your majesty."

They stop walking now and Anne is just about to respond when she hears gasps of surprise and excitement.

"Your grace!" She hears her children yelp, hurrying over with all the decorum their governesses have taught them.

"Your highnesses," Henry responds, bowing appropriately before opening his arms, allowing the four boys to barrel into his arms.

Anne hears Lady Bryan voice her disapproval at her sons behaviour, with even Elizabeth hugging her cousin when her sons eventually disentangle themselves.

"It's alright," Anne tells her gently, "He is family."

Besides, they were not out in the open.

Anne follows behind them as they hurry over to the gardens, talking amongst themselves loudly and excitedly. She watches from afar as Henry takes Francis and Mark onto his back, running around. Her chest is warm and light as she is reminded of how things used to be.

 _But life is not so bad now,_ some part of her whispers, to which her mind replies by reminding her of _George Mark Norris Charles William Francis._

Anne winces.

—

 _May 19th 1540_

Anne feels the stares of everyone at court everywhere she goes. It's unnerving really, how obvious they all are. The room grows quiet whenever she enters; people stare and whisper when she leaves.

She hadn't talked to Henry about what they were going to _do._

True, she had known that he was planning on making a speech and that there were 'festivities' being thrown in the unjustly condemned honour but other than that they hadn't spoken of it. Truth be told, Anne didn't let him. She always withdrew from his company whenever he attempted to speak to her about. . . _what happened_ and she had been expertly avoiding him for days.

Anne was tired.

So incredibly tired.

But the French Ambassador was arriving back at court after a month away, having returned to France to speak about Henry's terms for a betrothal between Elizabeth and his son Charles, Duke of Orleans (Francis had offered the betrothal first). Anne had to be there, not only for appearance sake but to ensure that her daughter would be well-treated and that the terms would be favourable for both sides.

And so it is with a heavy heart and a fake smile that Anne presides over the courts festivities that day, plastering an expression of thankfulness as people approach the head table and offer their condolences for her loss. Henry had reached for her hand and held it tightly in his grasp as some Lord or another first approached the table.

The moment they step away and gently pulls her hand from his grasp.

 _George Charles Mark Francis William Norris. George Charles Mark Francis William Norris._

When the french ambassador finally approaches their table, he does so with a servant behind him, with a beautiful intricately decorated chest that contains a piece of jewellery inside. Anne stiffens slightly and this time when Henry reaches for her hand, she doesn't have the urge to snatch it away.

"Your majesties," He murmurs, bowing. Of all the french diplomats Anne had encountered Bishop Castellan was the one she liked the most. She remembered how she had approached him, fearing for her life—rightfully so— and asked him to write to the French King and ask for his aide.

Oh how the tides had turned.

Something bitter and anger swells within her, causing her jaw to tighten and her palms to sweat. She sees Henry shoot her a glance out of the corner of her eye, looking slightly concerned.

"King Francis has sent a gift for you, in order to express his condolences," Bishop comments, motioning for the servant to step forward and carefully open the chest, exposing a gorgeous necklace that is graced by a green emerald in the middle. It is beautiful yes but Anne struggles to thank him genuinely, too overwhelmed with resentment.

"Thank your master for me, it is very beautiful," Anne tells him, her cheeks hurting from how wide her smile was.

Henry's grip on her hand tightens.

"It is beautiful," he agrees, jealousy—of all things— evident in his tone, "But it looks rather small. King Francis must be sure that it fits her."

And then all of a sudden Anne is furious. So intensely and outrageously furious she feels the urge to slap him.

"I'm sure it will be fine," Anne adds in smoothly, "And in any case, I have only a little neck."

And then she wrapped her hands around it, laughing heartily at the jest.

—

Anne knew that it would happen.

She could not avoid it much longer but when the tension between Anne and Henry finally broke it—

many were afraid that they would kill each other.

First, it started off relatively peacefully.

"I. . .I was wrong to have—to have you and all of them executed," Henry told her, unable to meet her disbelieved gaze, "And I am distressed to see that I have caused you pain. I wish I had not have done so. But for the love of god Anne, we must represent a united front, not only for England's sake but for our children. We must find a way to. . . move past it."

Anne remembered what he had told her shortly after she had become Queen. _What remains is the future Anne._ She had been hopeful in that moment; truly she had. It wasn't as though she didn't love Henry: she did but the problem was that she hated him too.

That was too much for her to handle on top of everything else.

"Move past it," Anne repeated, a hint of anger in her voice, "You almost had me murdered—" with each word her voice grew angrier and louder, "You murdered my brother—my friend, your friend— you had your children's uncle killed for something that _I_ had already forgiven him for and you do not apologise for it once and you expect me to move past it?"

"Anne—"

"No," She snapped, suddenly unable to stop herself, "I waited for you for seven years!" Her eyes begin to pierce with tears. "Seven years! And you grew tired of me within a year of being married to me! One year! And what was it— a week or two before you married that Seymour Girl whom you claimed to love—"

"That was not my fault! I thought you had betrayed me with several men. I am your husband and lord—"

Anne laughed loudly, unable to help herself.

"Even now, you can not even apologise. You can not look in me in the eyes and say I am sorry. I am the mother of yours sons and the most beautiful and intelligent princess in the whole of Europe- I am the woman whom you called the love of your wife, I am your _wife_ and you can't even apologise."

"I am a King!" Henry yelled in response, "I do not apologise to anyone!"

"Then there is nothing that remains!" Anne snapped back in response, "We will be trapped with each other until we both rot in the ground and the saddest thing is, is that I would not believe you if you did _apologise._ "

Tears stream down her face down and a sob racks it way through her shoulders. _Stop crying,_ her mind hisses, _stop crying._ Anne swiped at her eyes with her fists, letting out a tired, desperate breath.

"I'm sorry," Henry tells her, his voice surprisingly gentle, "I am. Truly."

Anne lifts her gaze to stare at him, feeling broken and haggard.

"I'm not sure if I believe you," she tells him, her voice a mere whisper.

And then before he could say anything, she added something that made him silent with guilt and desperation.

"If I was being on honest, I'm not sure I want to anymore Henry."


	8. Chapter 8:I love you to the moon & back

**A/N This prompt was asked for a long time ago by Guest and is about Elizabeth and her first child. Heads up, I'm leaving for vacation tmr, so if any of u want to get some last minute requests in before I disappear for two plus weeks feel free. Don't worry, I'm still working on those other two requests I have pending.**

 _I love you to the moon and back,_ Taylor Swift Ronan.

Anne is there in 1552 when Elizabeth gives birth to her first child.

She had remained in France ever since the wedding of her daughter to the recent King of France Charles, whose older brother Henry had died of a sudden illness thus making him the King since his father died and his brother had no children.

"Ahh! Ugh! Mama I'm so tired," Elizabeth whimpered, holding onto Anne's hand tightly.

"I know sweetheart," Anne shushed, dabbing at her daughter's sweaty forehead, cooing at her softly. "It'll be over soon."

Elizabeth shook her head frantically, a sob escaping her pale-looking lips.

"I can't," Elizabeth cried, "I really can't."

Anne smiled at her sympathetically, pressing a kiss against her cheek.

"Your majesty you must push—"

"Do not tell me what to do!" Elizabeth half-yelled, half-screamed, "I am the Queen of France and a Princess of England and I do not answer to you!" Then tears begin to fall down her pale face. \

"Listen to me Elizabeth," Anne says sternly leaning in so that her daughter has to stare her in the eyes, "You have your child in your belly who is ready to come out into the world—you _must_ bring him here, do you understand? A few more moments of pain, for a lifetime of happiness, my darling. Just a little longer, I promise you."

Elizabeth nods determinedly, grits her teeth and pushes with all her might, a shout escaping her throat.

And that's all it takes.

Elizabeth slumps down against the pillows, over exhausted, barely unable to keep her eyes open but she struggles to do so regardless, eager to see her baby, who has already begun crying.

"Well?" Anne questioned, "Is the babe healthy?"

She did not care about whether it was a boy or girl and if Elizabeth's husband dared say anything if it was a girl Anne would curse him until she died.

"A boy," the midwife states, wrapping the baby in a blanket, "A healthy baby boy."

Elizabeth lets out a cry of happiness, extending her arms out so that she could hold the baby.

"Let me see him," she demanded.

No one attempted to stop her.

"He is so handsome," Elizabeth whispered, awestruck.

Anne leaned over her daughter's shoulder to stare at her grandsons face, a smile playing on her lips.

"He is," she agrees, pressing a kiss to the crown of Elizabeth's head, "You have done so well my darling."

They sit there in silence for a while, staring at the babe.

"What is his name?" Anne asked quietly.

Elizabeth pauses for a moment, before lifting her eyes to meet hers. Anne had expected her to call her son Henry, after her father and late cousin but something soft and somewhat wistful appears in Elizabeth's eyes as she declares, "Charles. His name is Charles."

"After his father," One of Elizabeth's ladies comments, to the adoration of the other women present.

But Elizabeth's eyes are _knowing_ as she stares into Anne's and she is suddenly struck with the realisation that her husband isn't the Charles she was talking about at all.

 _Oh,_ her heart whispered, bringing tears to her eyes, _oh._

 _Thank you,_ Anne mouthed.

Elizabeth merely smiled in response.

—

End.


	9. Chapter 9: Jealous

**A/N Summary: Where Henry catches Anne and Charles acting like a family and gets jealous.**

 _It's my right to be hellish, I still get jealous— Nick Jonas, Jealous_

Henry rarely gets to visit his children with Anne, so whenever he does so he always looks forward to it and treasures it. He usually tries to visit them once a month—even if it is only for a day— but because of the recent rebellion in the North, he has been unable to visit them for two long months.

Excitement thrums in his bones when he and his party of guards ride into Pembroke's gates. He had not announced his impending visit, instead choosing to surprise his children.

 _And Anne and Charles,_ some jealous voice inside him whispered.

Henry shook the thought away with a slight scowl, before forcing his smile to reappear. Nothing would spoil this visit.

Master Lewis greets with a wide eyed expression, looking surprised but somehow maintaining his cool. Henry takes notice of how Anne's ladies are gathered far behind the doorway, still mid-cursty and yet still managing to send each other worrying looks.

Henry is suddenly more eager to see Anne than he is his children.

 _They wouldn't,_ some part of him insists and then other, _I'll kill him if he touched her._

Which is ridiculous because why would he, the King of England, care as to whether or not his former wife—who betrayed him ( a fact which continues to pain and hurt him as much as he hates to admit it) , care as to whether or not his wi— _former_ wife had lovers?

Henry refused to recognise why.

He hastily made his way to the gardens where he was sure his children would be on such a fine day and stops in his steps when he sees _them._

The children are playing with Henry Brandon, with Elizabeth and Mark climbing onto the elder boys back, shrieking with delight as their siblings shout for their turn next to them. His heart squeezes at the sight of them, momentarily distracting him from _them._

Anne and Charles are sitting on a velvet blanket side by side, with her feet propped in his lap as she tilts her head back with delight, laughing wildly at something he told her. Something hot and _angry_ takes over him as he watches the happy couple, his face flushing red as he imagines having Charles castrated.

"Papa!" George yelled, taking notice of him.

It takes him barreling into his legs—followed quickly by his siblings— to snap his gaze away from the couple and even when he carries George and William in his arms and kisses the rest of his children's cheek, that angry possessive emotion still lingers.

Anne and Charles have immediately separated from each other, curtsying at the sight of their King.

 _Or hoping he had not seen them acting so. . . friendly with each other._

Oh but Henry had seen them and it was something he could never unsee.

(Later on that day, he commands Charles to be the head of the army against the rebellion)

—

End.


	10. Chapter 10: Instant Familiarity

**A/N Hey guys! Thank you all so much for your reviews/support! I just got back from vacation yesterday and I have just gotten the chance to begin responding to prompts again. Just a small warning though, I have a few other writing ideas that I have so I may be taking longer than my usual one-two day response to a one-shot request. I will be posting another prompt shortly after I finish writing this one, lol.**

 **This one shot was asked for by QueenAnneTudor about George and his wife (this features fictional and completely made up people and titles, please ignore them). George's wife is real though.**

 **Hope you all enjoy.**

 **Until next time,**

 **Fionakevin073**

George has been engaged to Princess Cecily of Sweden since he was thirteen years of age.

Granted, George knew that it was a good match and that his mother had chosen well. Her father was fiercely protestant, which would therefore further solidify England's religious status and gain them a Protestant ally for life. George had seen the Princess's portrait as well and agreed that she was a beauty.

But that did not mean that he was happy about the marriage.

George had inherited his father's good looks and charisma and had bedded a few maidens beforehand (though he was awfully careful about it, his mother had instilled in him the danger of fathering bastards outside a marriage and also taught him to be aware of how his lustful actions could affect his wife) but now at the age of 20, he fancied himself in love—or at least in lust— with his current 'partner' Lady Bridgette.

Blonde-haired and green-eyed, she was a stunning beauty. They had met when he had accompanied his brother Mark to the Scottish border where he to meet his wife, Mary Queen of Scots.

He had brought Bridgette back with him.

For a year they had been together—much to his mother's eternal disapproval (though she did not obviously express her distaste, George knew she did not like the arrangement but that she would keep quiet about it until his marriage) but George knew that their time together would come to an end.

Though he was similar to his father in many ways, George had no intention of treating his wife the same way his father had. Though his parents marriage had been happy after his mother had been declared innocent after Cromwell confessed, George was fully aware that that had not been the case during the first few years and that his father's infidelity had almost gotten his mother killed.

He had no desire to ever make his wife fear her position—or for her life.

So with great reluctance in the year 1556, after his bride to be had left Calais to sail to England, George bid Bridgette farewell. His mother visited him in his chambers that evening, a knowing yet somewhat proud expression on her features.

"Hello my boy," she whispered, leaning forward to press a kiss on the top of his forehead. George looked up at her from where he sat, holding tightly onto his cup.

"I sent her away," he told her, though he was sure she already knew.

Sure enough, she replied quickly, "I know." They both sat there for a moment, staring at the flames in his hearth.

"You may grow to fall in love with her," she told him quietly, her voice soft.

George resisted the urge to scoff.

"I know you may find it silly and I know that you. . . find yourself to be in love with that Scottish girl, as you have been with many others. Or at least infatuated with her." A small sound of amusement escaped her lips. "You're a lot like your father in that regard."

"I do not think that I have that luxury," George commented wryly, one of his curls falling onto his forehead, "Even though my brothers have been lucky in that regard."

Mark had married Queen Mary by proxy when he was eighteen and Francis had married his wife not six months past. William was the only unmarried one like him.

"Who knows," his mother mused gently, "You may fall in love with her in the first moment you see her."

This time, George did not stop himself from scoffing.

"I do not believe in such things mother, you know this."

Even though Bridgette had been gone for only a week, his infatuation with her her—the feeling he had deemed to be love— had already begun to recede. He was no longer sure as to whether or not she had dimples when she smiled or whether or not her birthmark was on her left or right ankle. Their nights together now blended into one cloudy memory that he had trouble navigating.

"She may yet change your mind."

"I hardly doubt that."

* * *

George carried that doubt with him in his heart right until the day his bride-to-be arrives in London.

He stands next to his mother with his brothers on his right with a crown on his head as he observes the carriage opening, much to the crowds approval. It was a bright sunny day and the palace was wonderfully decorated in preparation for Princess Cecilia's arrival.

There are her ladies that exit and then suddenly there is her.

There is a long, golden veil hanging over her face, matching her magnificent golden gown.

And suddenly—George is nervous. His heart begins to beat rapidly as a number of thoughts swirl through his mind, causing his palms to sweat. And then with baited breath, he waits.

Her gloved hands lift her veil and their eyes meet almost instantly.

And suddenly all his doubt disappears.

He doesn't immediately fall in love with her. For as long George lives, he still does not truly believe in _love at first sight._ But he openly admits to himself and to her—later, when the time was right— that there had been this instant familiarity.

Almost as if though his soul had whispered:

 _It's you. It has always been you._


	11. Chapter 11: Cause I'm not leaving you

**A/N Hey guys, sorry this took longer to write than expected. This one shot is a small moment between Anne and Charles upon a request by a reviewer. Thank you all.**

 **Until next time,**

 **Fionakevin073**

 _1538 shortly after Henry asks Charles to head his army against the rebellion_

"I still don't understand," Anne said from where she lay on her bed, the sheets covering her naked form, "Why did he have to pick you?"

Charles scoffed from where he stood as he struggled to slide his trousers back up his legs. He was going to go back to his chambers now that the sun had risen, having spent the night in hers.

"Who knows?" he shot back, throwing his head back with exasperation, "Henry does whatever he wants, whenever he wants, you know that."

"True."

She watched with a guarded expression as he began to buckle his belt, feeling oddly vulnerable despite him not looking at her.

"I do not want you to go."

The confession was rushed— dangerous even. Anne was careful not to reveal her deep emotions for Charles to anyone (not even him).

Charles head snapped up to look at her, his expression oddly pleased but somehow not surprised.

He let out a small sigh and moved over so that he stood at the side of the bed she was on before sitting next to her.

"I don't want to leave either," he admitted, his eyes gentle even though his mouth was twisting with slight frustration at his situation. They were both silent before Anne spoke.

"The children will be angry. Especially Elizabeth."

Charles let out a groan at the realisation before a small chuckle escaped his lips.

"She'll give me the silent treatment for a while."

Anne smiled at him briefly though it did not reach her eyes.

"He's jealous," Charles blurted out much to her surprise.

"What?"

"He saw us and he wants to bring us apart," Charles continued, avoiding her gaze.

"Charles—"

"I know, I know," he told her, "You don't want to speak about it."

For some reason, Anne felt the need to reassure him of something. He looked strangely dejected, as though she had ruined his dreams or hurt him in some grave way. She leaned forward and placed a hand on his cheek and began to trace the shape of his lips with her index finger.

"Enough," she whispered, pressing a ghost of a kiss against his lips, her silk sheets sliding down her chest and exposing her nudeness. She pressed their noses together grabbing a hold of his hand and placing it on her smooth skin.

"Don't leave."

He responded by capturing her mouth in a kiss and staying with her longer than he normally did any other time they lay together.

(Little did he know, she had not just been referring to him not leaving just that morning)

—

End.


	12. Chapter 12: The Kingdom Light Shines

**A/N Hey guys, this prompt was asked for by** _ **many**_ **who asked for more Henry/Anne moments. This one focuses on the day of Anne/Henry second wedding of sorts and kinda deals with Henry's thoughts about learning that Anne was innocent of the crimes she was accused of and that whole time period. Thank you all for your support!**

 **Until next time, Fionakevin073**

The day that Cromwell is sentenced to die, Henry is sitting in the council chamber alone, looking over some gifts that he wishes to send for his children. He wishes to send a pear necklace for Elizabeth,—as she had recently developed a fondness for them— and four rocking horses for his sons but he can't decide on the details. Should they be painted red or blue? He can't quite remember which colour ribbon each of his sons were given when they were first born and after trying to remember—which he mostly succeeds in doing, since those are the boys favourite colours— he decides to ask Anne just to be sure.

"Yes, that's what I will do," He murmurs, tracing the sketch of the design of Elizabeth's necklace. It was meant to mirror her mother's, with the same design except with a golden _ET_ instead, for Elizabeth Tudor. He believes that Elizabeth will be most pleased and the thought causes him to smile. He misses her—all of them— dearly and decides to invite them to court or at the very least go and visit them when the execution was over with and the chaos had settled.

He's sitting there thinking of his children and completely and utterly unaware of what is happening on the tower. It's quiet, peaceful even and Henry is sitting there waiting for the canon to sound when—

"Your majesty!" His council enters the room hurriedly, their eyes wide and startled.

"Forgive us for the intrusion your majesty, but—but—"

"What is it?" He questions dangerously, his hands curling into fists. Damn Cromwell to hell, he has caused him enough trouble.

"Is he dead?"

Silence.

"Answer me!"

And then finally, finally the Duke of Norfolk tells him what happened. Henry listens numbly as Norfolk confesses the truth. About Anne.

About Charles.

About everything.

How none of the charges were true.

How Charles and Cromwell had lied to him and played him.

How Henry had sentenced to death—unknowingly— four innocent people.

How he had nearly killed an innocent woman—his _wife._

Henry goes through five stages.

The first one being denial.

He denies it at first and soon enough the papers and documents and diaries of all those involved in Anne's trial are shoved onto the council table as they pour over the details and information. On one of the days that Anne had supposedly been unfaithful, she had been recovering from the baby she had lost. Another, her 'lover' had been at a different castle than she. The evidence is so blindingly _false_ that Henry wants to be sick.

The second stage is anger.

He beats his hands bloody against the wall and yells at his advisors and curses them all to hell and spends a full day or two pacing and yelling and filled with such _rage_ that he nearly claws out his own eyes.

(Even though he doesn't say it, the person he is most angry with is himself)

The third is that he feels the need to bargain with God. With everyone.

Cromwell is executed and Charles is sentenced to death along with the Spanish Ambassador but Henry still needs two more men—guilty men— to condemn to make it even. To make it right. An eye for an eye is what the bible says correct? A tooth for a tooth.

Anne has given him five children. One daughter and four sons.

Perhaps she has already made it even.

The fourth stage is depression.

He spends a day curled up in his chambers, guilt eating at his stomach as he stares up at the canopy. He doesn't move as the sun rises and sets and merely lays there, feeling unworthy of life.

Unworthy of everything.

And the final stage is acceptance.

He knows the truth now—much to his eternal relief— and he accepts it. He was wrong and Anne is now his wife again once more. Once again the Queen of England.

For the fist time in a week, he returns to court and his heart jolts when she kneels down in front of him. She is so beautiful, his Anne (he had always been aware of this, even if he never wanted to admit it) and though part of him wants to hug her and apologise until his dying day, the other is unsure. Insecure almost.

When she asks for him to pardon Charles, that insecurity deepens.

 _Does she love him? Does he love her? Would she rather he die instead of Charles?_

But then something changes over the course of those several moments. He can't completely pardon Charles—his advisors and his country would never allow it— but he doesn't want to hurt her either. If Henry is sure of anything in this whole mess, it's that.

And so he finds himself standing in front of her and allows Charles to have a quick and painless death and his son to succeed him but even though she smiles in gratitude, he catches the small hint of despair in her eyes once she realises that Charles will still die—even though Henry is furious with him and hasn't been that close with him over the past few years, he isn't pleased that his closest friend will die at his order— regardless of her pleading for his life.

The thought of her hurting because of him pains him more than he wishes to admit and he desperately wishes to ease her sorrow (though she is doing a good job of hiding it) so he whispers in her ear that she can go see him whenever she wishes so that she can say goodbye.

And that's that.

—

 _Close to two months later_

Henry's breath hitches when he sees Anne walking down the aisle towards him, staring steadily ahead. Westminster Abbey is silent on the inside but he can still hear the shouts—more like good wishes for Anne (less so for him)— of the crowd outside. The boys and Elizabeth are walking beside her at her train. They are all dressed in white and green—the Tudors colours— and look absolutely stunning, causing his heart to swell with pride and his mouth to twist into a wide smile that he quickly tries to twist into a more serious, kingly expression.

Anne's hair has been left down—similar to her first coronation— so that it tumbles down to her waist, though beautiful star shaped diamonds have been clipped to her dark locks. Her gown is— though Henry doesn't know much about dresses— is without a doubt the most beautiful thing he has ever encountered. It's a pure white gown that exposes her collarbone and has diamonds embroidered on the lower part of her skirt, so that it truly seems like Anne is _shining._ Her jewellery is simple though elegant and it gives the image that Anne is this angel that has come to grace Earth with her heavenly grace.

The crowd is equally enthralled with her, judging by the whispers of delight and their awestruck expressions at the sight of their Queen.

Anne reaches him eventually and before he knows it Thomas Cranmer is gently lowering a crown onto Anne's head and he declares, "I hereby declare you, Anne Boleyn, wife of Henry VIII and the rightful Queen of England!"

"God Save the Queen!" The crowd yells, throwing their hats into the air.

"God Save the Queen!"

And before Henry can stop himself he rises from his throne beside her and moves so that he is at the bottom of the stairs leading to their respective thrones, turns to look at Anne and then kneels in front of her. His action silences the room and draws the attention of everyone and just as his eyes meet Anne's—who is looking at him with an aloof expression— he exclaims, "God Save the Queen!"

For as long as Henry lives, he won't ever forget the thunderous reply.

He stares into his wife's eyes and something inside of him cracks and he thinks that for the first time in many, many years or perhaps for the first time ever, they are going to have a real _true_ partnership.

It almost feels _magical,_ this feeling.

It feels as though the Kingdom is _shining._

—

End.


	13. Chapter 13: Please don't take him

**A/N Hey guys! Thanks for all the reviews and your support and stuff, it means a lot! This prompt was asked for by QueenAnneTudor and is about Jane and her dealing with Anne's sons and the fact— or sneaky suspicion— that Henry is still in love with her. Just a heads up, I am putting this one-shot request thing on hiatus for a little while, as I want to focus on a couple of other projects I have—one being for the Tudors as well. It's just an idea but, I kinda need some time to clear my head so I can write these other stories. Hope you all understand! I will stop this hiatus soon enough but until then, please enjoy these.**

 **Thanks you guys!**

 **Until next time,**

 **Fionakevin073**

 _Please don't take him even though you can— Jolene, Dolly Parton_

Jane discovers that Anne delivered not one—but _four_ sons when her brother Edward tells her so after Henry doesn't visit her chambers that evening.

A jolt of fear—such tremendous fear she nearly faints— runs through her body as a gasp escapes her throat.

"Are you with child yet?" He snarls at her, frustration making his cheeks turn red.

"No," Jane whispers, unable to breathe, "Not yet."

"Damn it!" He yells before turning around to glare at her, "Your failure has put us in this perilous position Jane! The king may summon the harlot back to court now that she has given birth to sons and made him seem like the biggest fool in all of Christendom—"

"He hasn't even acknowledged them!" Jane cried out, terrified.

"Not yet," her elder brother shot back grimly, "Not yet."

—

Over the next few weeks, Jane tip toes around her husband. She obeys and smiles and kisses him when she needs to but she can tell that something is wrong; that something is bothering him. He kisses her lightly but distractedly; he stopped visiting her chambers at night for a week and whenever he does he stares into her eyes as though he is picturing someone else.

Jane would bet her life that he's thinking about _her._

Jane is not quite sure what the Duke of Suffolk said that caused Henry to send him to Pembroke before _her_ due date but from what her brother has implied, it had something to do with Jane and— _that woman._

She knows that he receives letters from the Duke once every fortnight and one time what he writes makes Henry red with rage. She can hear her husband yell loudly at someone and that fear—that horrible, nightmare inducing fear returns with a vengeance.

And for once, when she lays awake that night in her room—alone— she wonders if this is how _she_ felt. Like everything she loved could be snatched away at every moment; like the man who she loves— and though she hadn't _truly_ loved Henry at first, she does now— views her as a nuisance, like she is some fly that he wishes to swat away or crush mercilessly with his fist.

Months pass and Jane still does not become with child.

( but she also wonders as to _why_ exactly _she_ still has the power to affect her husband so )

—

By the time April rolls around, Henry has a mistress.

She handles it with grace but privately when she is alone she sobs so greatly she retches onto the floor.

 _You were the other woman too,_ some voice inside her points out, _and you cost her her babe, title and good name. Because of you, she almost lost her own head._

But Jane tries her very, very best to ignore those voices and focuses instead on being a dutiful wife. She restores Lady Mary to favour and even invites Elizabeth to court, because despite what Henry might say she knows that he misses his youngest daughter.

She just doesn't expect _her_ and Suffolk to come with them.

Jane notices how Henry's eyes never leave _her_ — not even for a moment. How his kisses become more frequent and more distracted at the same time, as though it is a chore he must complete. She observes how whenever the Duke and _her_ appear next to each other, he doesn't talk or look at anyone else and just stares and stares at them.

And then finally, throughout this whole fiasco Jane becomes with child.

Finally.

(it's odd, when she discovers about the volta and finds out that because she fainted and therefore distracted Henry from enacting his rage on _her_ and Brandon, a heavy weight lifts from her shoulders.

"I condemned you and now I have saved you,"she whispers when she watches _her_ leave from her window, _and now that we are even you can not take Henry, even though you easily could._

 _Please, please don't take him. . . ._ and then finally she utters the one name she swore she would never utter when she was by herself;

"Anne." )


	14. Chapter 14: Blue Christmas

**A/N Hey guys! I know it's been a while but I recently got a request from** Lilyzinha **asking for a prompt for one of her ideas. So here is a small shot regarding her prompt, on Henry knowing that Charles was there throughout his kid's childhood.**

i.

Christmas the first year Anne returns to the throne is hectic to say the least.

Henry is adamant that everything be perfect, right down to the last wreath. His children are ecstatic and even Anne is happier too. Henry can feel it; the joy they all have and he is desperate for it to be the best Christmas his children have ever had.

Better than any they had before.

He needs them to feel at home here. He knows how difficult it was for them to adjust to Whitehall and even for Anne, though she never talked to him about it in much depth.

Everything needed to be perfect.

He spent twice as much on decorations that year than he did usually and the presents he obtained for his children were endless and glamorous, yet personal. For Anne, he found two of the most well-bred stallions in all of France and bought them for her, amongst other books and jewels that he _knew_ she would love.

It never occurs to him that they had their own little traditions that he wasn't privy to. Henry had not spent a Christmas with his children in years; Elizabeth had only come for celebrations slightly before or after Christmas, and he visited the boys after or slightly before Christmas at Pembroke. He never truly _knew_ what they did during this time of the year and was bewildered to find his children preparing to leave the palace with their mother on a week before Christmas.

"Anne," he called out to her inquiringly, taking note of the warm clothes she and the children wore, "What is the meaning of this?"

Anne looks at him, her eyes wary yet simultaneously defiant as she grabs a hold of George and William's hands but before she can respond, Elizabeth excitedly exclaims, "Mama's going to read to the children at the Orphanage and we are going to hand out blankets and bread Papa. Like we always do!"

Henry felt a sharp sting deep down in his gut as he forced a smile on his face, concern swimming in his gut. He did not want his children surrounded by sickness and death—

"We even did with Uncle—"

"The children won't be around the ill," Anne interrupts quietly, her eyes meeting his.

He glances at her determined face and then at his children's happy expressions and he doesn't have the heart to tell them no, no matter how hurt he may be. This is something he knows, right down to his bones, belongs to them. He doesn't have any part of this.

"Alright," he says finally, a look of relief flickering in Anne's expression, "Be safe my loves."

ii.

The second time he realises that they're somethings he still is not really apart of is because of his sons.

Snow has been falling for the past three days and Christmas is not for another two. Henry has just finished a meeting when he catches sight of his sons running towards him excitedly and opens his arms as Francis and William barrel into him.

"Ah, my boys," he says affectionately, leaning over to rustle his other two son's hair, "Where are you off to?"

"We're going sleighing Papa!" George explains excitedly, tugging on his warm gloves. His brothers chime enthusiastically as well, but Henry feels himself frown at his words.

"Sleighing?" he asks, slightly confused as he pulls back from the two boys in his arms to look intently at his eldest son.

"Uncle Charles took us all the time Papa," George says slowly, the pleasure on his face slowly disappearing as he notices his less than enthusiastic expression. _Charles,_ Henry thinks darkly, his jaw locking as he thinks of his deceased friend. _Of course._

"We can not pull the sleighs ourselves," Francis murmurs, looking as dejected as his brothers, "We wanted you to come with us, if you were not busy."

And Henry's heart breaks because no matter how much he resents Charles or his own behaviour, he loves his children more. Always.

"Alright," he says, smiling brightly at them.

They return hours later, with red cheeks that hurt both from the cold and from smiling too much.

When they bump into Anne, he pretends not to notice the glint of sadness in her eyes when they tell her what they were doing.

iii.

Christmas comes and goes with resounding success, if Henry does say so himself.

And he comes to a realisation that day, as he watches everyone dancing around him. He stares at Anne in her deep red gown, watches her as she dances in a circle with all of their children and he smiles.

Because he knows that even though he hates Charles, even though he resents himself for what he did, it was worth it; because they're happy. His children are happy and he has all the time in the world to make up for lost time.

They can make traditions of their own now.

—

End.


	15. Chapter 15: 500 Miles

**A/N This one shot was requested by MissKaylee, who asked for me to write more Anne/Charles about how Henry pardoned Charles. Not gonna lie, even though it hurt to kill Charles in you are my sweetest downfall, it was the most plausible conclusion to his and Anne's story. I hope you guys enjoy this one-shot, regardless of how impossible it seems. Thank you all for your support.**

 **Until next time,**

 **PrincessFiona073**

 _I would walk five hundred miles just to be the man standing at your door— Sleepting at last, 500 miles_

There are many factors that lead to Henry's decision.

Granted, it is a rather selfish, dangerous decision that he knows a part of him will grow to regret. But he remembers Anne's eyes when she was in front of him, pleading for mercy for Char— _his_ son and despite what he had told her, Henry finds his resolve weakening. He remembers the familiarity _he_ has with his children, how their eyes brightened when he was in the room, how their voices were fond when they told Henry stories about their Uncle Charles.

There is jealousy inside of him, which Henry is not surprised to find but there is also fear and compassion. His children would hate him once they discovered that he had allowed their precious Uncle Charles to be killed. Maybe they would understand the pressures he was under once they were older, but they would despise him; maybe they would even refuse to see him.

The thought makes his insides churn and his heart break as he thinks about missing more time with them than he already has. Henry sits and thinks hard, the sky darkening as the hours slip by.

Anne's children are his heirs.

There is no doubt about that. It is a conclusion that Henry had known deep inside of him ever since Jane had died and he knew based on the not-so-subtle looks of his advisors that they had realised he would not have more children as well. He had four perfectly healthy sons and they were to be his heirs. He would have Parliament make a Succession Act, which would put George first in line and Elizabeth fifth in line and that would solve the succession issue and declare his and Anne's children legitimate.

His marriage to Anne on the other hand. . .

Henry cringes as he thinks about all the damage they had done to each other during those years together, when they had been married. He thinks about his tears and her begging him for mercy and the hatred he had felt— the anger and hurt that had consumed his heart so greatly he had wished her death. And while Henry may still love Anne—he suspects a part of him always did and always will—and is forever grateful for her to giving him his children, there is some part of him that knows how selfish it would be for him to ask her to be with him once more, after everything he had done.

Henry, for one of the first times in his life, does not know what to do.

—

He doesn't quite know how he finds himself standing in front of Charles the next day, but he finds he does not quite want to. His former friend is disheveled and covered in a thick layer of grime and he makes such a pitiful figure that a small part of Henry feels sorry for him.

"Why are you here?" Charles croaks, his voice rough, as though he had not used it in years.

Henry tries to stifle his nervousness as he shifts on his feet.

"For Anne."

Her name makes Charles's face react, his eyes widening as he stares up at him from his position on the floor. But beneath his surprise, there is a degree of concern and fear that makes Henry realise that he is scared that _he_ is going to hurt Anne because of Charles. The thought makes his fists tighten and anger form in his belly, but he forces himself to calm down. He isn't here to argue or to threaten.

Henry is here to understand.

To decide, once and for all.

"Do you love her?" he asks, the words instantly filling the room, making it harder for him to breathe.

Charles lowers his gaze to the floor.

"Yes."

The admission pains him slightly but it's not a surprise.

He had long since suspected the truth.

"I love her too. In what form I am not sure but I do love her." There is a pause before he allows himself to continue. "I could give her a happy life with our children. In time, our past sorrows will be forgiven and our love will grow anew. I know this with a certainty because a love like mine and Anne's will never fade— it may not be as passionate or as strong as it was initially but it will always be there, tugging at our hearts. But I suspect that regardless of this love we bare for each other who she really wants to grow old with is you."

Charles eyes him warily, waiting for him to finish.

"The country is calling for your head. Everyone is in favour of your death and I must admit, a part of me wishes that too."

Henry inhales and exhales and in that moment, he decides.

—

Anne is woken before first light by one of her handmaiden's telling her that the King has requested a private audience with her at once. She barely manages to put herself together before making her way to his chambers, confusion and fear making her heart beat faster and her hands tremble at her side. When she finally arrives and looks Henry in the eyes, she is taken aback by the dark circles under his eyes and the hollow expression on his features.

"Your majesty what—"

 _Charles._

 _Charles._

Her eyes prick with tears at the sight of him and it is though her worst nightmares have come to life. His face seems thinner and his eyes weaker but there are no signs of visible injuries that she can see, and the relief she feels nearly makes her fall over.

"Charles Brandon is to be executed at first light this morning as a man guilty of treason." Anne's eyes jump to Henry's, the world around her growing faint. "Henry, what do you mean—"

The expression in his eyes makes her stop.

"He is to be smuggled in a disguise to various different locations throughout the realm, before being taken to Pembroke by the end of the year, after the dust has settled." Anne gasps quietly, a tear slipping down her cheek as she gazes at Henry. "I can't give you back the peace you managed to find over these past three years and I am sorry for that. Our children are to become the gossip of the world and will rule Kingdoms. That is our reality. You will probably have to become Queen again in order to ensure their future and legitimacy but that is something we will have the opportunity to discuss. The one thing I can give you is the assurance that he is safe and will live a quiet life at Pembroke whilst are children are moved into one of the royal residences of our choosing."

Anne's eyes move to Charles, who is standing there awkwardly, his eyes probing into hers as tears continuously stream down her cheeks. A sob escapes her throat and before she knows it they're barreling into each other, their arms wrapping around each other so tightly Anne can barely breathe. "You'll be alright," she whispers, burying her face into his chest. "You'll live, Charles. You'll live." He kisses her forehead and tightens his grip, too nervous to speak.

"He has to go now, before anyone notices." Henry's voice is like a bucket of cold water being thrown over her and she retracts from Charles's embrace, though her hands still cling to his. "Go now." Anne turns to look at Charles, a million things she wishes to say on her lips but unable to say all of them. "I love you," he tells her, kissing her hands fervently. "I love you."

He leaves with a guard moments later, dressed in shabby clothes and a long cloak so as to disguise himself. Anne stares at the empty space where he was, wondering whether or not it had all been a dream. She lifts her fingers to her lips, her eyes wet from tears as she turns to look at Henry. "Thank you, " she tells him, the words precious. "I don't know how to thank you." She moves closer to him, her heart lodged in her throat as she meets his watery gaze. "I'm so sorry Anne," he tells her, "I'm so so sorry I couldn't give you more."

Anne shakes her head and smiles, hugging him tightly.

"Could you have ever loved me like before?" Henry asks her after a while. There's a hint of certainty in his voice, like he already knows the answer but is still partially unsure.

It is moments like these that make it easy for her to answer truthfully.

"I never really stopped."

—

It takes years for them to reunite.

Years of waiting.

Years filled with loss and heartache.

But when Anne returns to Pembroke after her son's coronation, she is not surprised to see a single man standing at the entrance, waiting with open arms.

And later, when they are together at night, he whispers into her hair.

"I would have walked five hundred miles to be here, Anne."

 _I would have walked five hundred more,_ she thinks dreamily, his heartbeat lulling her to sleep.

End.


	16. Chapter 16: Always

**A/N Hey guys! Sorry it's been so long. This is for Kara, who asked me to write a one-shot about Anne and Charles getting married instead of him and Mary. Enjoy! Thank you for all of your support. I hope u guys enjoy. And I know that historically Mary married the King of France in 1514, which would make Anne's oldest age only 13 years old. So lets just ignore that and age her up lol. Hope you guys enjoy.**

 **Until next time,**

 **Fionakevin073**

i.

Anne is still in France when Queen Anne dies.

Anne had been relatively fond of her mistress and she had been fond of her also, so she mourns not simply for decorum. The court festivities are stopped for a few weeks and life seems to drag on. There is nothing for her and the ladies to do anymore; they have no mistress now and it seems inappropriate to laugh, gossip or dance like before.

So they all walk around and read and exchange serious yet slightly wondering looks with each other, waiting for life to start again.

It is a month after the Queen's death that Anne first hears the rumours.

"One of the most beautiful princesses in Christendom I hear," she hears Cecily, one of the Queen's maid of honours whisper.

"What are you whispering about?" Anne asks in french, her heart quickening.

"The King is to marry Princess Mary of England."

"But he's old enough to be her grandfather!"

"I know," Cecily whispers back, her brown eyes wide with excitement. "But at least we'll have a new mistress soon and life will come back to court. It'll give us something to do."

Anne would soon find out it would give her a lot more than that.

ii.

Princess Mary—Queen Mary, she admonishes herself, is as beautiful as people claim. With her long red locks and piercing blue eyes, she is easily more beautiful than their former Queen. But she is unhappy. Anne can see through her strained smiles and watery gaze though she admittedly puts up a valiant effort.

Anne can't really blame her for being unhappy. The King is old. Too old. And desperate for an heir and if she failed to deliver. . .

Anne nearly shuddered at the thought.

She looks around the room at the celebrations, at the people laughing and dancing and she catches sight of a man standing a little further from everyone else, a small yet charismatic smile on his face. He's handsome. Possibly the most handsome she's ever met. She's drawn to him— hell, she can't stop looking at him.

She doesn't really want to stop. He has fine, english cheekbones and pink lips to match and his eyes-goodness his eyes are an extraordinary shade of blue that take her breath away even though she's standing across the room. Charles Brandon, she thinks his name was, the Duke of Suffolk. Her father and sister had mentioned him in their letters. Her sister had managed to spare a detail or two for him in the midst of her ranting about the King, now that she was his mistress. Her father of course, had mentioned him because of his connections and even now she can imagine him whispering in her ear, urging her to get closer to him. _He's unmarried._ It had been something he had conveniently mentioned.

There's no way her father would urge her to charm a powerful duke if there was no profit in it for her. For them. For him, really.

She barely even notices that he's staring back. Or, more accurately, that he's caught _her_ staring. She doesn't blush because yes, while Anne may be slightly charmed by him she's smarter than that. She's better than that. He winks at her playfully, taking a sip out of his cup and all she does is raise an eyebrow before turning her back to him.

And while she may not see it, she knows he's intrigued.

iii.

She doesn't see him until two days afterwards and well, if she's dressed in some of her nicest gowns that has nothing to do with him.

At all.

She's playing a card game with a group of men, giggling playfully at their exaggerated groans as she wins round after round.

"Your grace!" one of the men exclaims suddenly and Anne feels a shiver run up her spine as she turns her head, immediately meeting his intense gaze. His eyes are on her and her alone. "I see you're all slowly using all of your money to this lovely woman over here." His voice is deep and joking. It takes effort to not look at him. Anne feels her lips twitch upwards at the comment and tries to stifle it before he notices.

"Your grace," she greets, bowing her head appropriately, "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

He gently grabs a hold of her hand—much to her surprise— and presses gentle kiss onto her palm. "Likewise," he says lowly, "And who might you be?"

Anne smiles secretively.

"Anne," she declares, "Lady Anne Boleyn."

—

It escalates from there.

Secret glances across crowded rooms. Walks down hallways. Brandon more often than not 'accidentally' bumps into her at least once a day and on more than one occasion he brings her a flower, especially roses, which she had told him were her favourite. He gave her a beautiful ruby ring a week ago. It's merely an entertaining game of courtly love, she knows this and she is genuinely enjoying their flirtation. Nothing too scandalous of course. Nothing that would ever jeopardise her reputation.

Though she loves her sister dearly, she would never make the same choices as her.

Anne is walking through the gardens nearly three weeks after they first met when they have their most significant encounter yet. She's wearing a low cut, forest green dress that clings comfortably on her skin and her most comfortable pair of slippers. Her hair is, for once, kept down, as Mary had instructed her maid of honours to do that day. She's happy walking under the warm French sun, the smell of roses fresh under her nose when—

A hand yanks her behind one of the tall walls of the hedge maze and a scream forms on her throat as she—

"It's me, Lady Anne."

Her eyes widen.

"What are you doing?" she asks loudly. He was standing too close to her for comfort. His proximity made her heart race wildly. He blinks at her words and it's one of the first times she's seen him looking serious.

"I—I—"

He bends down and kisses her fully on the lips.

Anne can feel her eyes widen with surprise as she stares at his closed lids, noticing how his eyelashes were surprisingly light. He kisses her even more deeply and then she has no choice but to close her eyes, even if she can only enjoy this for a moment. Kissing him sends a warmth through her chest that she's never felt before. Every inch of her skin is on fire.

He pulls back—much to her disappointment— and begins to press kisses on the side of her neck.

"Anne I want you," he whispers against her skin, effectively snapping her out of her state.

"No," she says suddenly, scrambling to get away from him. "I will not dishonour myself your grace."

"This has nothing to do with honour! I— I desire you so greatly Anne. I've never felt this way with a woman ever before. I dream of you—I ache for you. I will bring you back to England with me if you so wish it— you can be my official mistress Anne. I can not rest until I know you desire me too."

"Your official mistress," she repeats, trying to blink back her tears of anger. "My sister is called the great prostitute by _everyone._ I can't be your mistress. I won't be your mistress." She watches his jaw clench with frustration and his eyes screw shut. "You say these pretty words to all the women your grace. I am sure your fixation with me will pass. I am sorry to have caused you pain."

Then she turns on her heel and walks away with all the dignity she has left.

iv.

The next time she sees him is the day after.

The English are leaving now that the Princess has been wedded and bedded and the King is throwing one final, fabulous feast to see them off. Anne aches sitting there, a ghost of someone else's lips on her own. She doesn't catch sight of him— it is a Masquerade after all. She sits with the other ladies in waiting and dances when asked and laughs enough to hide that anything is wrong but all the while she thinks of Charles and—

"Lady Anne."

How he managed to sneak up on her without her noticing, she's not sure. What she is sure of however, is how her heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice and how something stirs in her belly. Something warm.

"Your grace."

He asks her to dance at some point, and Anne ignores the looks of her friends as she agrees and follows him to the floor. Their hands join as they move together and she thinks she can feel his heartbeat by his wrist. Their eyes meet and their gaze is strong— so strong she can barely breathe. The music is loud and colourful and when it stops she doesn't even notice.

It's little surprise that she finds herself with him in an abandoned hallway. She's on fire— her insides are burning, her throat is burning and the warmth in her stomach. She doesn't want to stop kissing him. She doesn't.

"I can't," she whispers when he pulls away, leaning her forehead against his. "The only person whom I will give my maidenhead is my husband, Charles."

Then he says two words which change her world forever.

"Marry me."

"What?" she can't think.

"I am mad for you. If this is the only way we can be together, then so be it. Marry me, Anne."

He presses a gentle kiss to her fingers.

"Marry me."

v.

 _Dear my lord father,_

 _I trust you have heard of my marriage to Lord Charles Brandon. I know it was sudden and that I did not receive your approval or permission, but I hope you manage to find it within yourself to forgive me and Charles. He makes me happy father, and he is eager to meet you and set things right. We have an audience with the King as soon as we arrive back and I would truly wish to see you. I suspect I will see Mary at court._

 _Write to me._

 _Your faithful daughter,_

 _Anne Brandon_

"I hope he will reply," Anne declares, turning to look at Charles from where he lay on the bed, naked as the day he was born. She was equally bare, though she at least had the decency to slip on Charles's nightshirt from the ground. It was long and baggy, but she felt comfortable in it.

"I hope so too," Charles commented, "I wish to meet the father of my wife."

Anne smiles at his word; wife. She was still growing used to it.

She moved to lie next to him, landing on the bed with a heap. "I hope he does not disown me. I haven't seen him in years." The confession darkens the light mood and she fingers the necklace her father gave her all those years ago, and stares down at the linen. A hand cups her cheek and forces her to look into his eyes. _They really are magnificent,_ she thinks, awestruck by their intensity and their passion.

" _I_ will care for you. I will make sure you are loved and taken care of. You are a Duchess, Anne. My wife. I will let no one hurt you. Never doubt it."

"Thank you." She leans forward and kisses him gently on the lips, content.

vi.

The King does not seem to care much about decorum in regards to her marriage to Charles. He greets her husband with a sunny smile and a tight hug and though there is still a smile on his face when he turns to look at her, there is something that lurks in his eyes, a seriousness. Almost as if he were appraising her somehow.

"Your majesty."

She curtsies appropriately, her heart racing in her chest as she stares at the ground.

"Lady Anne," he greets, urging her to rise from her curtsy.

She meets his eyes— also a heart-shattering blue- and instantly understands why so many women fall under his spell. He is handsome. Incredibly so.

"Ah, you are just as beautiful as your sister. It is easy to see why my dear Charles is so in love with you."

"Thank you, your majesty."

His smile is charming.

Almost too charming.

He and Charles leave her soon afterwards, but not before the King sends her one last, piercing look.

—

It doesn't take long for her father to visit her in her chambers.

And he does not react at all as she feared.

As a matter of fact, he is ecstatic at the news.

"My daughter, married to the King's closest friend and a Duchess," he kept on telling her, "Oh how I am so very proud." As though marrying Charles had taken some profound skill. "There will be a small punishment of course," he mentions off-handedly, once he has calmed down. "The King can not allow all of his nobles to go marrying without permission, so I expect a small fine or banishment from court for a month or so, just so you can return to your estates."

"Charles won't be happy about that," she comments lightly, sharing a smile with her sister.

"No I presume not," her father agrees, before eyeing her critically.

"Are you with child yet?"

"Father!" Mary cries and Anne can feel her shoulders tighten defensively.

"No," she replies carefully, "Not yet."

"Then that should be something to work on, you don't want to give him a reason to divorce you."

 _He would never,_ she wants to say. But her father doesn't know Charles like she does. Doesn't know that he has dimples on the back of his spine and that the scar on his thigh is from him falling of a horse as a child. He doesn't know that when he laughed too hard he would snort and that when he first bedded her he treated her as gently as a flower. But her father only knew the womanising, carefree Charles who took no responsibility.

He didn't know Charles.

He didn't.

—

Sure enough, Anne and Charles are banished from court for two months. Charles isn't too happy about it of course, but she can tell that he is relieved that the punishment wasn't worse. Their estates are beautiful. Absolutely stunning. With large, green gardens filled with roses and tulips and a castle that was far bigger than Hever. This was her home now.

"Welcome home," Charles whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek.

There's a lot of work for her to do. Charles rarely— if ever— came to his estates for a long duration, and so while they are beautiful, there's somewhat of an empty quality to them. It does not feel like a home. So she works on restoring the castle to glory. She has lavish carpets and furniture brought in from the storage, has rooms dusted and polished until the floors shine like diamonds. Charles is amused by her actions but lets her do as she pleases, restless in his own home.

Anne also misses court life as well. Her and Charles were similar in that regard; they both thrived at court. But they make do with each others company. It feels almost like a dream really. They laugh, play and make love. They don't argue, even though they are both stubborn. It's only good. There's only ever good when she's with him.

But one significant thing occurs when she and Charles are in exile.

The King stops inviting Mary to his bed.

The news isn't surprising, but a part of Anne feels guilty, as though she is to blame for this because of her affiliation with Charles.

"Do you think that had something to do with it?" Anne asks Charles, the night she receives the letter from Mary.

Charles looks rather serious as he ponders over this.

"I don't know. Maybe. Henry has always been like this. He blows hot, he blows cold."

At Anne's tightened expression, he presses a comforting kiss on her shoulder.

"If we did have anything to do with it, we only spurred on the inevitable, my love. Your sister will not be left in disgrace, I will make sure of it."

"It's perhaps a blessing she did not become with child," Anne comments, before immediately wondering if she spoke too freely. Something flickered in Charles eyes. Something she didn't quite catch.

"Perhaps," is all he says on the matter.

vii.

They are allowed back to court eventually, and it makes Anne laugh to see the delight on her husband's face when he announces the King's forgiveness.

"Finally!" he had exclaimed, before he collapsed onto the bed with the letter still in his hands.

Anne is excited to return to court — she is. But Anne is not a lady in waiting now; she is a wife of a Duke, one of the most powerful men in the realm and the King's closest friend. She can afford to make no errors in the eyes of others.

Charles reassures her and soothes her doubts with kisses and caresses.

But Anne is not merely worried about that. She is not with child. Her moon's blood has come every month without fail. It worries her slightly. She knows Charles loves her, but there is a small part of her that realises he would be far more willing to set her aside if she did not produce an heir — or even a child for that matter.

Regardless, they arrive at court, and while it is not as glamorous as the French court, it is still splendid. Charles gifts her several gorgeous gowns and jewels before they depart and Anne makes sure to wear them all.

Anne makes sure to act appropriately. She makes sure her dresses are not as low cut as they were before she wed, so as to not spark rumours. She makes friends with the ladies of the court, and introduces them to the French Hood's she is so fond of.

"You're making quite a stir you know," Charles tells her one morning.

The sun has just begun to rise. Anne can feel Charles's heartbeat against her back as he slings an arm over her waist.

"Am I?" she questions, turning over to face him.

She places her hands on his chest and strokes the soft skin she finds.

"All of the court is jealous," he informs her. "They all tell me of how my wife is the most interesting and entertaining creature they have ever come across."

Anne giggles at that; but she is beyond relieved to hear that most of Charles acquaintances approve of her.

"I just want to make you proud of me," she says quietly, after her laughter stops.

The look in his eyes makes her breath hitch.

"You always do," he tells her, before kissing her fiercely.

viii.

However much the court may like her, the Queen dislikes her in equal measure.

Mayhaps Anne is exaggerating. The Queen is always courteous whenever Anne is near her. She does not make snide comments about her inferior birth like some other ladies. But Anne catches her watching her while she dances or talks with Charles. When she speaks to the ladies of the court about the French Court or when she surprises the French Ambassador with her fluency in his language when Charles introduces her to him.

The Queen is always looking at her, and Anne does not like the look she sees.

But Anne has no desire to shame the Queen; perhaps it was because her sister used to bed the King. Anne has Charles and his love and that is enough for her. She will not deny that she had ambitions in her youth, but Charles fulfilled them when he married her. She is one of the highest ladies in the land with a husband who loves her and that is enough.

It is.

"The Queen does not like me," Anne tells Charles one day.

She doesn't mean to.

One moment they're preparing for the upcoming banquet in the gardens and the next Anne is blurting out the words.

Charles turns to look at her, and Anne is somewhat taken aback at the lack of surprise on his face.

"You knew," she says, her tone half-accusing.

"I suspected," he admits.

Anne waits.

"Henry mentioned how the Queen commented on your charms and youth. Things she desperately lacks."

"Charles!" Anne admonishes.

He shrugs nonchalantly.

"Do not mistake me, Queen Katherine is a good and honest Queen. She is pious and faithful to Henry, which is more than I can say of him. But she is no longer youthful. She can no longer bare any children." A dark look passes in his eyes.

"What is it?" Anne questions, moving towards him. "Talk to me."

Charles hesitates for a mere moment before telling her about all of it. About how Henry was thinking of divorcing Katherine to produce another heir. Anne listens as quietly as she knows best as her husband pours out his soul.

"Dear God," Anne murmurs.

"These are troubling times Anne," Charles tells her. "I can feel it. Our country will be divided."

If Anne were any other woman, she would shiver and nod her head obediently. But Anne is no other woman.

Anne is, to put it quite plainly, Anne.

"You will always have me," Anne declares, holding onto his hand. "Always."

A hint of humour is evident in his smile.

"I'm counting on it."


	17. Chapter 17: The Hunters and Foxes

**A/N Hey guys! Surprise surprise! Double update! Here is a short one shot that SaphireShelle91 requested. Hope you guys enjoy!**

 **Until next time,**

 **Fionakevn073**

 **Summary: Where the boys find out the truth.**

i.

The realisation that the boys will need to know the truth someday weighs on Anne. She's always known that it would happen in the back of her mind. Before — before Anne had become Queen once more, she had simply told the boys that while her and their father loved them all very much, they were no longer married. Only Elizabeth knew the truth — to some degree anyway. She knew that her mother was once the Queen, and then she wasn't.

It had been easier to put off the inevitable when the boys were mere babes in the cradle, who cared not for the trials of the world and only for their mother's love.

She watches her boys grow. Watches as their shoulders broaden and their legs grow longer and how that wonderful childhood innocence lingers in their eyes still.

Their innocence has not yet been broken by the corruption around them. By the vultures that circle around their crowns.

Anne must tell them the truth one day, and it is the thing she fears most in this world.

ii.

Henry loves all of his children. He does.

And he knows his children love him in turn.

But he does not miss the way Elizabeth eyes him warily whenever he and Anne fight; the way suspicion gleams in her eyes when she catches him talking to another woman. She never speaks against him, his special girl, and is charming and lively like no other, but Henry knows that she knows the truth and that she thinks less of him because of it.

It breaks his heart to realise that.

He can't bear to have his boys think less of him too. He can't think of them being wary to come into his arms, to doubt his love for them. His affection. It drives him mad only to think of it. Perhaps he should be less prideful; should care less for what his family thinks of him. But Henry has always desired to be loved by everyone.

His family is no exception.

And so he vows to do whatever he can to redeem himself in their eyes.

But he talks of it with Anne.

The look of sheer terror and worry on her features breaks his heart.

"How can we tell them that?" she asks him. Tears swim in her eyes. "How can we tell them that their father —"

They wince simultaneously.

"Not now," they both agree.

"When they are older."

iii.

Henry dies before they get the chance to tell them the truth.

They've heard whispers of course. They know that Anne and Henry were separated for some reason. They know about Jane Seymour.

But her boys are only ten when their father dies, and Anne can not bear to ruin his memory. Not yet, anyway. In truth, all thoughts of telling them of what occurred slips through her mind as she works through her grief and the brief chaos that erupts after Henry's death.

She is trying to maintain stability for her son until he comes of age. She is trying so hard. She will tell him, when the time is right. In her own way.

—

Anne does not get the chance.

The boys and Elizabeth are on their way from Eltham Palace when their carriage breaks down. The nearest castle, as fate would have it, is Wolf Hall, the seat of Edward Seymour.

After Jane's death, the Seymour's power dwindled. By the time Anne was made Queen once more, Edward Seymour and his brother had long since returned Wolf Hall.

When Anne hears that her children are at Wolf Hall, Mary is with her.

"Nothing good ever came out of a Tudor going to Wolf Hall," she tells her sister.

And she is right.

iv.

Elizabeth is wary of the look in the Seymour brother's eyes when they look at her and her brothers. They are courteous of course, and offer them their 'humble abode' for however long it takes for their carriage to be fixed.

Elizabeth relaxes when they are left alone.

She watches with amusement as her brothers squabble over something.

"What are you fighting about?" she questions in a motherly tone.

They all exchange a look.

"Were you named after Papa's mother or Mama's?" Francis asks.

Elizabeth laughs at the angry look on their faces.

"Both," she replies.

"Who were we named after?"

Elizabeth stops smiling.

"Yeah, who were we named after Lizzie?" George questions, with William and Mark staring at her with wide, ernest gazes.

"You were named after Mama's younger brother George, who died before you were born."

She tries to make herself sound more confident than she feels.

"And what about us?"

Elizabeth is not quite sure what happens next. One moment, it is only her and her brothers, and before she realises it, Edward Seymour is in the room. He tells them of the four men their father had killed, how their 'virtuous' mother had named them after those unjustly slain. If Elizabeth were not so startled by the drastic turn of events, she would have bristled at the blatant disrespect in his voice.

She startles back to life when William yells, "That isn't true! Papa would never do that to us!"

Lord Seymour's smile is cruel as he stares at them, and Elizabeth is reminded of the arrogant man who was stuck on his sister's side like a bad rash. The triumph that had been in his eyes. The arrogance. He looks only broken now.

"You will leave our presence Sir," Elizabeth commands, hurrying over to her brothers to shield them from his gaze. "Immediately."

It takes a while to get the boys to calm down.

"Father was tricked into thinking Mama was guilty," she tells them repeatedly. "He genuinely believed that Mama had simply been using his love for years, and that she had been dishonouring him for all that time."

"But — but he tried to _kill_ her."

Elizabeth sighs. Though a part of her struggles to reconcile the father she knew with the man who almost had her mother executed, she knew that her mother would not want them to speak ill of their father, no matter what.

"Mama managed to forgive him," is all she can think of to say. "Mama managed to fall in love with him and be happy with him after everything. If she can do so, so can we. What Father did in the past did not change the fact that he loved us. All of us. It does not change the fact that Papa loved our Mother, alright? There are people who will try to break us like before and we must not let them win. We are family, and we love each other no matter what. Understand? Even if the hunters and the foxes try to break us, understand?"

The boys look at each other for a moment.

"We understand," they echo.

 _End._


End file.
